


Faking It

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: A Study in Brotherhood [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding, But his family is here to make it better, Damian Wayne is Robin, Damian had a rough childhood, Damian's POV, Dick Grayson is Batman, Dick Grayson's pov, Fake Illness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Child Abuse, fake sick fic, pov switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 23:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11542275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Damian knows how to fake being sick, he got very good at it while living with the League. Now that he's Robin and Grayson is Batman he's not exactly sure how his family might react to him wanting to take a day off so he decides to fake an illness. The one thing he didn't expect was Dick's reaction.





	Faking It

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline wise I'd say this takes place really early in Damian and Dick's relationship, both are still figuring each other out so mistakes are made and conversations had. 
> 
> I also want to give a shout out to Audreycritter for helping me plot this fic and for her extensive medical knowledge on things you can use to make yourself sick.

Damian hated wasting time. He preferred to use every moment to it’s fullest potential. It was something that had been drilled into him almost from birth. He had become efficient, and stayed that way even after he came to live with Grayson. It made him a better Robin and more successful in the field.

Even so, there were days when Damian woke up and couldn’t bring himself to leave the comfort of his bed, his body and mind ached for stillness.

Already he was five minutes late getting up for the day. In another five Pennyworth would be entering to make sure he was awake. He could see the dominoes of carefully allotted time begin to fall and crash if he risked staying still for much longer. If he got up now he could salvage most of his day.

He pulled his blankets higher against his chin. Perhaps this once he could take the day for himself. A shiver of danger raced through him. The thought alone was reckless. The words, if uttered in front of his mother, would bring a swift and justified wrath in their wake. But neither Grayson nor Pennyworth were his mother. They had told him time and again that things were done differently in the Wayne house. For the most part that had proved true.

Only, Grayson did not take breaks, and he had never so much as heard Pennyworth complain of being tired. How would they look on him if he were to break from his own routine? Damian wasn’t sure he could bear the same disappointed look on their faces he received from Mother when a tutor or nursemaid told her of his laziness.

A knock and his door swinging open made Damian’s heart leap into his throat.

“Master Damian? Is everything alright?” Alfred stepped into the dim room, a slight frown on his face.

Damian groaned. Then realized he’d confirmed Alfred’s question. His eyes went wide and he felt a rush of panic, his mind flashing back to years earlier. Rough hands pulling him from bed when he was actually sick, or tired. Angry words directed at him, and the rush of trying to get back on track. The exhaustion that came with being forced to move against his will.

A platter was set down on his dresser before Alfred moved to his side. The man took one look at Damian, his face washed out from his mistake, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he tried to figure out what to do, and Alfred’s face softened.

“Feeling bad?” he asked.

Damian nodded, because he was. He hadn’t lied to his new family like this before and it was already turning his stomach. He lied for important reasons, for cases, and to save lives, not so he could take a day off. And if he were caught? He blanched at the thought.

* * *

Dick knocked on Damian’s door before letting it swing open. “Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?” he asked, stepping inside.

Damian was curled up in his bed, looking more comfortable than Dick was used to seeing him. He’d learned early on that to Damian sleep was a requirement to ensure his body could continue working properly, and not something to be enjoyed. He was a light and rigid sleeper, so seeing him curled up, and swamped with blankets he’d normally scorn was odd and a little frightening. He had to be feeling bad if he was actually looking for comfort.

“Pennyworth informed you of my status?” Damian’s voice came out raspy, and Dick’s eyes softened at the boy.

“Yeah, he said you were pretty sick.” Dick walked over to his brother’s bed to get a better look at the boy ensconced in blankets.

His brother’s face was pale, and his eyes watery. Dick brushed a hand against his forehead and felt more heat than he should. “You look rough.”

“I am feeling less than capable today.” Damian said. “I thought it wise to take your advice and admit to my illness instead of putting either of us at risk during patrol.”

Dick sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled. “Good, I wouldn’t want you getting any worse by trying to push yourself.”

He was proud of Damian, it usually took so much to get him to the point where he would accept help whenever he was sick. He hated being weak or letting others see him that way. Dick was ashamed to admit he’d resorted to letting Alfred drug the kid’s tea once to get him to rest. To have him willingly admit to being sick, and willingly staying in bed was a miracle itself.

“I’m really proud of you, it’s good to admit when you’re not at a hundred percent and need help.” Dick said.

Damian bit his bottom lip at this and nodded. That worried him more than anything. If Damian somehow convinced himself Dick thought he had grown weak or had done something wrong he might try to fake feeling better. He needed to let the kid get some sleep instead of worrying about what Dick thought.

Dick ruffled his hair and stood. “I’ll let you rest. I’ll be back in a little later to check on you again, ok?”

* * *

Grayson left and Damian almost wanted to call out to stop him. He had been nursing the faint hope his brother would stay by his side. It had already taken him forever to come check on him, and now he was leaving again.

Damian had wanted the day to himself, but when he’d began his fake illness he had assumed Grayson would be more attentive. His brother’s insufferable ability to smother him with attention should have been on display while Damian was ill. Grayson was normally unmovable from his side when he was hurt.

So why had he been so quick to abandon him this time? Had he caught onto Damian’s scheme? Did Grayson realize he’d falsified his illness? Or was he simply not sick enough to warrant attention?

When he had been sick enough that his mother let him take the day off everyone avoided him. He saw only the doctor, and servants at mealtimes, and only when they came to drop off or pick up his trays. Beyond that he had been left to his own devices. Then, Damian had enjoyed the respite from duties and interaction. Now he craved attention. 

He had hoped that his brother would be different, that his previous experiences were not the norm. Hadn’t Grayson and Pennyworth proved him wrong whenever he got hurt? Their attention to him then was commendable. Could he simply be wrong about customs in Gotham?

He wrapped himself tighter in his blankets. Disappointment curdling in his stomach like bad milk. He felt sick for real, his stomach turning over and over in him, complaining that his mood was spoiling everything. He wanted to throw up, to get all the rejection out of him so he could go back to doing what he did best. To being an excellent Robin to Grayson. To being useful, and needed.

That’s what this was about, of course. He was sick, and not useful. He couldn’t hold down his tentative place in the family if he was too weak to do the only thing keeping him there. It was the same as when he was with the League. If he wasn’t useful he wasn’t worth the time. He should have worked on a miraculous recovery, so he could regain good status with his new family. Instead he sunk deeper into his pillow.

* * *

Dick decided to keep to the loft while Damian wasn’t feeling well. Alfred had things to do, and while he was willing to put his day on hold to take care of Damian, Dick was just as capable, and had less on his own plate.

He had a day of paperwork to look forward to. He’d taken over as much of Bruce’s work with Wayne Enterprises that he could. Lucius had been an incredible help in sorting things, but papers still needed to be looked over and projects needed an extra eye, and now that Bruce was gone, Dick was next in line to be that eye.

He had a nice office in the loft, but today he moved his papers and laptop out into the living area so he could keep an ear and eye on his brother’s door. He hoped Damian was getting some sleep, he knew how much his brother hated feeling weak or missing patrol. Rest was the best medicine, at least until Alfred got back with whatever he’d gone out to pick up.

He set a stack of papers aside, onto one of the couch cushions and opened his laptop. The blank screen stared at him, and he stared back. He’d so much rather be entertaining his brother. Or just sitting with him.

He hated being alone when he was sick. If he was left for too long on his own he’d drift too far into his own head and worry himself out of good rest. He also tended to drift into being down on himself when he was sick. It was easy to let his physical illness affect his mental health. Being with people always helped.

Damian was his opposite in many ways, he liked being on his own, and scoffed at Dick’s affection. He was worried he’d be overbearing if he kept checking in on the kid. He remembered Damian’s protests the last time he’d been stuck in bed healing from a stab wound. The scowls and harsh words. Then, Dick had thought he’d seen some real desire for attention come through, but he didn’t want to push it.

They didn’t know each other well enough yet for Dick to know if Damian was really bothered by his attention or if the kid was so touch starved he just didn’t know how to react around him. Damian was quick to crow about his achievements and successes with the League but he was tight lipped about anything that had to do with comfort or emotions.

It didn’t surprise Dick. The idea of growing up with assassins, and being trained to be one didn’t paint the picture of an environment where his brother received anything soft or kind. Dick wanted to remedy that, but he also didn’t want to push Damian into anything that made him uncomfortable. So, he toed the line and hoped he wasn’t making things worse by keeping out of his brother’s room.

Alfred returned with a frown on his face, that sent Dick’s heart racing with worry. Was Damian worse than they’d thought?

“I took the liberty of running a few tests in order to determine what was ailing Master Damian.” he said, handing Dick a sheet of paper.

Dick looked down at it and frowned, worry melting away to something more like anger. There was nothing wrong with Damian. At least nothing the boy hadn’t done to himself.

* * *

Damian knew he’d been caught when Grayson stepped into his room. His face was hard with disappointment. He crossed his arms as he let the door swing shut behind him. 

He had been caught faking an illness to get out of training for the day once. Much like what had started his current bout of faking, there had been little special about the day beyond him waking up exhausted. He had felt terrible, not physically, but mentally worn out.

He’d known the moment he woke up that way it would not be a good enough excuse, but he was prepared. Trial, error, and careful planning had prepared him for just such a day. He had everything within an arm's reach to make him ill enough even Mother would allow him a day of rest.

He’d underestimated the power of the toxin he’d used to falsify his illness. Instead of helping him mimic the look of one struck with flu like symptoms, he’d been violently sick, to the point he’d had to admit his deception.

Now as he watched his brother’s face he prepared himself for anger and harsh words. To be pulled from his room and set to a training regime that would work the toxins out of his system faster than rest would, in heaving bouts of sick and sweat.

Instead Dick’s face seemed to soften and he let out a heavy sigh. “Where is it?” Dick asked.

Damian swallowed, so he knew the extent of Damian’s deception. It had to be Pennyworth’s fault. The man had been too eager to swab his mouth and take his temperature earlier. He’d probably even tested Damian’s saliva from his cup.

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a small bottle, handing it over to his brother. He was thankful that today he’d gone with a simple syrup to induce throwing up instead of some of the more extreme poisons he’d dosed himself with in the past. He was sure the look on Grayson’s face at simply seeing the ipecac would be unbearable if he’d taken something worse. Damian hadn’t felt the need to. Not when he could elevate his heart rate, and had practiced making his face look paler than it was.

“Damian.” he said, and it was like all the weight of the world was in his name. His brother sat down on the edge of Damian’s bed.

“This feels like extreme lengths, even for you.” He said, fingers tapping on the bottle. “Want to tell me why you thought you had to make yourself sick today?”

Damian swallowed and wished he was anywhere but where he was.

* * *

Dick had done his fair share of faking being sick as a kid. To get out of school or social events he hadn’t wanted to go to. He liked to think he’d gotten pretty good at it too. He kept disposable hand warmers close by so he could fake temperatures, and always bundled himself up more than was needed to get a good sheen of sweat on his forehead. But he’d never considered actually making himself sick to get out of something.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Why his little brother would go to such lengths to convince both him and Alfred that he was sick. He didn’t even have school to miss. Homeschooling sure, but surely he knew that was flexible enough that if he needed a day off he could get it. Right?

His brother seemed to be trying to sink into the bed, his face a mix between stormy and scared. What could make a kid look like that? Defensive, but terrified in the face of being caught. Dick could count on one hand how many times he’d made a face like that growing up, and most had to do with him sneaking out in uniform after Bruce had benched him. None were so small an infraction as faking an illness.

“I used to fake being sick.” Dick said, hoping to ease some of his brother’s fears. “I did it more than I probably should have, when I didn’t want to go to school, or get out of extra work at the circus.”

Damian’s white knuckled grip on his comforter seemed to ease a bit as Dick spoke, so he kept it up.

“There was one-time Bruce wanted me to go to an auction. I’d been to some before and to me they were worse than a four-hour stakeout where nothing happened.” Truth be told, he still thought that way. “I really played it up by faking the flu. When Bruce insisted on taking me to the doctor I had to tell him the truth, or face a doctor outing me.”

Dick remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach when Bruce had declared he wasn’t going to the auction anymore, and when he asked Alfred to get the car. The truth had rushed out of him in a worried flood so he didn’t displace anyone else.

“I thought he’d be so mad. But when I explained that I was tired and needed a break from everything he understood. We both ended up taking the night off.”

“He didn’t punish you for lying to him?” Damian asked.

Dick smiled. “He told me not to do it again, and explained that there are better ways to deal with not wanting to go somewhere than faking being sick. But no, he didn’t really punish me. And I’m not going to punish you either.”

His heart broke a bit as he watched the relief wash over his brother’s face. It was more than his own had been at Bruce’s forgiveness. Then the threat had been grounding. What kind of punishment had Damian concocted for himself?

* * *

“I-” Damian paused not sure how to continue now that he was sure Grayson wasn’t angry. “Mother would not have seen things the same way.” he said, at last.

Something in his brother’s face changed at his words. The softness that had fallen over him hardened again, his hand tightening over the bottle. “Is that why you needed to prove how sick you were? You thought that’s what it would take for us to give you the day off?” he said.

Damian flinched back at the sudden anger in Grayson’s tone. He had forgotten how angry his brother had seemed about the bottle. Was it forgivable to simply fake, but a different matter entirely when he worked at being convincing?

“You’ve done more than this,” Dick looked at the bottle in his hands. “Made yourself even sicker.” Fury underlined his words now.

Dick jumped from the bed, pacing across it. “She made this happen. Did you hurt yourself too if you needed to?” he paused looking at Damian before shaking his head. “No, don’t answer that. Of course you did. Anything less would have gotten you in trouble.”

At some point during his brother’s rant Damian realized Grayson wasn’t mad at him. The fury, and the anger, wasn’t directed his way, but at his mother. He was angry for him. Something about that turned all the emotions that had been building in him into a choked sob. Grayson’s pacing stopped at the sound. He spun on Damian, returning to his spot on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I’m not mad at you.” His hand was on Damian’s arm.

He shook his head, swallowing back tears. “I know.”

Grayson’s thumb rubbed circles on Damian’s arm. “I would never expect any of that from you, you know that right? You don’t have to hurt yourself to get a day off.”

Damian nodded, but felt his throat closing against more tears. He felt like he needed to explain, he’d upset Grayson. Lied to him, and Pennyworth. He’d betrayed their trust and yet still got forgiveness and anger on his behalf.

“You always work so hard.” He said. “And Father never took breaks, at least I didn’t expect him to. He never did while I knew him. I only woke up tired, I should have pushed through it. It’s not a good enough excuse, and I’m sorry.”

Dick shushed him, shaking his head. “It is a good excuse, more than that it’s a reason. Everyone gets that way sometimes, me and your dad included. It’s ok to feel bad and not be physically sick.”

His hand moved from Damian’s arm to brush his hair. He couldn’t help but want to lean into it, and enjoy the attention.

“Next time just tell me or Alfred, we’ll understand. And if you have to fake feeling sick, just fake it. None of this stuff ok?” he swung the bottle in front of Damian in a teasing way.

Damian smiled and nodded. “I think I can manage to fake an illness with no outside help.”

Dick set the bottle on Damian’s nightstand and looked him over. “Are you up for a Psych marathon or is this one of those days you’d rather be alone?”

His consideration for Damian’s mood even now gave Damian a twinge of guilt for how he’d acted all day. “If your work is too boring, I believe I can keep you company.” He said, “Though I have no idea why you enjoy watching crime television.”

“It’s not just crime, it’s comedy too. I know for a fact you laughed the last time we watched it.” Dick grinned, standing. “Plus, I like figuring out who did it first.”

Damian had wanted to spend the day on his own, but nothing had turned out the way he’d been planning so far. If he was forced to spend the day with someone, he didn’t mind it being Grayson. Perhaps, if they watched enough of his show, Damian could convince him to put on something more appealing. If not he’d simply enjoy the comfort of his brother.


End file.
